


Defensive

by vespirus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:52:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespirus/pseuds/vespirus
Summary: A trick from Morrigan ends up having unintended consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

> another trans alistair fic cuz i've been talking to some people about dragon age recently!  
> this has alistair being somewhat outed without his choice (which is Not Good but i feel like things would have gone this way in canon tbh), but it all ends up okay..!

Travelling with the warden must’ve been a sign. Some sort of act of divine intervention, the Maker smiling down on him with to make up for his rusty armor and high voice. The first one for sure since the other warden made sure Alistair was outfitted with the nicest equipment: a luxury he’d never been afforded before. Even Duncan had apologized to him but that they money was sorely needed elsewhere.

The high voice, maybe not so much. He did his best to talk in low tones and “speak from his chest” or whatever it was his old stable-hand had told him, but he always had the creeping feeling everyone could tell. He tried his best to just be a normal guy but it was hard when he’s trying to not let anyone see he’s not some ripped flat chested cis man. He’s soft in all the wrong places and he only managed a straight silhouette through some very strategic layering.

It was also hard when you had a crush on said warden and leader of your pack, and everyone was camping together in close quarters and in each other’s company almost constantly and other such horrible things, but he did his best. It was a valiant effort. He was pretty proud of how well he’d been able to cover his tracks up until then, to be  _ quite _ honest.

All the pride and effort was for naught in the end (much like most of what Alistair puts pride and effort into).

It had been a long day of travelling and there had only been a small skirmish with some bandits earlier in the day. The sun was high and the roads were dusty and everyone was hungry for a rest. The warden took pity on them and called for a break and they set up an afternoon camp near a river.

Zevran and Leliana (a dangerous mix, in Alistair’s opinion) set up some tents so they could lounge in shade, while Wynne refilled the canteens. Alistair made to wash the blood and grime off some of his armor alongside Sten. The qunari was always so stiff Alistair was vaguely worried, and it was a sight to see him practically standing to attention alongside Wynne.

He waded in a little and was making to splash his pauldrons in the water, when a hard push sent him into deeper water. He sputtered, flailed, and was finally able to gain purchase on the rocks of the riverbed and trudge back onto dry land. He glared daggers at Morrigan. She shrugged, staff in hand, standing approximately where Alistair had been. He looked at her then the river then back again and she smirked.

“Wasn’t me.”

He grumbled as he dumped his -- now soaking -- pauldrons next to his bag and lay out on his back in the grass to wait for the sun to do it’s job. It was such a hot day, he shouldn’t have to wait long to dry. Or maybe it was just his heavy armor (that he’s worn all day and been burning up in) talking.

His pleasing view of the blue sky (not a damned cloud to be seen) was soon blocked by Morrigan’s face. He scowled and put his arms behind his head in a futile attempt to get more comfortable. Futile because of the armor but also Morrigan’s presence.

“What is it? Are you just going to stand there and look down on me? Not much of a change from the usual, I’ll give you that.”

Ignoring his question, she raised a thin eyebrow. “Are you going to just lay there, sopping wet? As if you were a Mabari hound sulking after a bath?”

Alistair just glared at her and didn’t answer. He didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t want them to see his (unfairly large, if you asked him) chest that was currently hidden under layers of leather and metal and chainmail.

“Perhaps you’d like the beast to join you? If you’re going to be a child about it.” Morrigan looked over to the warden’s Mabari, who perked up and panted at the attention. Morrigan gave him a smug look as if to point out the similarity of the dog and Alistair in that as well. Alistair growled and sat up, peeling off the burnished metal plates and propping them up in the grass. The whole time he was trying to think of a way to play things off, a way to keep  _ some _ dignity, but none sprung to mind.

He paused for a second and could practically feel Morrigan’s eyes narrow (she must have honed in on the way he never took off more than the first layer of armor, must have seen his weakness and been waiting for a chance to exploit it, not passing up the hint of a chance to make him uncomfortable) and sighed as he pulled the thick chainmail shirt, laying it out on the grass. He hunched up, leaning elbows on tucked in knees and trying to appear as androgynous as possible. His shirt was slightly oversized so that should work in his favor, right?

Morrigan titled her head and breathed out through her nose. She was probably plotting. Or something. Whatever. He just needed to not draw any attention and he should be fine.

Either way, it was nice to be out of that ghastly armor. The only reason he really enjoyed wearing it was because of the shape it gave him. And protecting him from potentially life-threatening wounds, of course. But you get his drift. He enjoyed the sun on his bare arms and stretched out his arms some, soaking in the rays and appreciating not being weighed down on every limb.

The warden called over to Alistair, presumably for some conversation or another or to ask Alistair to help hunt up some food, and he sat up, smiling reflexively. He stood (much easier without the restrictive armor) and stretched his back contentedly, turning to answer his warden’s call. He froze at the quiet sound of Morrigan’s sharp inhale and it felt like his heart had stopped. He swallowed thickly but looked over at her, trying to feign a confused expression.

“What is it?” Pushing out forced casualty through his teeth.

Her eyes flickered down to his chest and then back at him with an unreadable expression. He waited.

“You have more depth to you than I originally thought, it seems.” She said in an equally indecipherable voice. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He stood awkwardly for a second or two, waiting to see if she would take her chance to publicly humiliate him, and jogged off towards the warden when she didn’t.

“What’s up?” He asked with a grin, and the warden returned his smile.

“I just need some help sorting supplies. I thought this would be a good chance to figure out rations, since we keep putting it off.”

“Sure, sounds like a plan,” he said easily, focusing on the set task and decidedly  _ not _ trying to tell if the warden was staring at him or not. They made quick work of it since it was simple to do (just easy to procrastinate) and the warden thanked him for the help and let him take his portion of the rations. It seemed he’d been dismissed.

The warden didn’t seem to have noticed, but Alistair had to know. It was killing him to have the suspense of waiting to find out if he’d be shunned by his closest (only?) friend, and since it seemed the rest of the camp was going to know by the end of the night he might as well just get it over with.

“Hey, I…” The warden looked at him, waiting for him to continue. When nothing else was forthcoming (he was trying to get the words all straight in his head and it was proving difficult) Alistair must’ve looked pitiable enough to win mercy.

“Alistair.” He looked up and saw a softness in the warden’s face. “If you say you’re a man, you’re a man. I don’t see any reason to debate you on something so personal, when you would know better than I.”

Alistair’s whole face must’ve been red because he felt like he was about to shrivel up and die. He swallowed and nodded, earning another smile from his warden. He retreated to his things and busied himself with putting away his rations.

The warden decided they should just keep the camp into the evening since they didn’t have anywhere especially urgent to be and a break wouldn’t kill them. Alistair’s armor took an annoyingly long time to dry, but the rest of the group seemed to react about the same as Morrigan and the warden.

Sten gave him a silent nod (he still didn’t understand the Qunari but he’ll take it), Wynne just shook her head and lectured him on proper self care or something (he wasn’t really listening, his ears were still rushing with the sound of his blood and beating heart), Leliana just nudged him and made some quips about his Chantry upbringing, and Zevran just continued to be his unbearable self (in a good way) and making cryptic comments that were probably innuendos that went over Alistair’s head.

He was glad to have it out of the way. He was glad to be travelling with such a surprisingly kind group. To be honest though, he was mostly glad that now he could take off his armor every time they camped out.


End file.
